Freedom In Ink
by DobbyRocksSocks
Summary: Barty can finally get his tattoo covered up and gain some freedom for his youthful mistakes. Will he get more than he bargained for in the process? Muggle!TattooArtist!AU


**Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.**

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 **Written for;**

 **Fanfiction Tournament - An AU.**

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 **For Sophy, for the GGE. I hope you enjoy!**

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 **Freedom in Ink**

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The shop was small, artwork lining the walls in a mish-mash, no apparent order to it as skulls sat next to butterflies, and dolphins sat next to tribal signs. There was nobody sitting at the counter, but Barty was quite happy to wait, to eye the many sketches and photographs on the wall with envy. So many people were walking around with beautiful artwork adorning their skin.

He wanted that.

He wanted people to look at his ink with admiration instead of fear.

He had the painful treatment to fade his tattoo, his branding mark. He'd been warned long before he started that it would never be completely gone, but the thick black had faded to a dull grey, and he'd had this tiny shop on a nondescript street recommended to him for a cover. The artist was apparently one of the best in the business.

A bang behind him startled him, and he turned to see a man walking through from the back. He was stunned by the way the man looked, the confidence with which he carried himself. He was wearing a tight t-shirt, and the skin of both arms were covered with various images, a single eye, vibrant and colourful, to roses in the darkest of red. The man had dark hair, shaggy to his shoulders, a handsome face and the most expressive, stormy eyes Barty had ever seen.

"Alright?" the man asked as he slipped behind the counter before leaning on it. "What can I do for you?"

"I... uh... want a tattoo covered. I've had laser treatment on it... the woman recommended I come and see you to get it covered up," Barty replied quietly, reaching a hesitant hand up to unzip his jacket. He stripped it off slowly, laying his left forearm on the counter for the man to look at.

The man raised a single eyebrow as he took in the tattoo, glancing up at Barty.

"This... this is Tom Riddle's mark," he said. "You were part of his... organisation?"

"I made a mistake in my youth," Barty muttered, unable to meet the man's eyes. "And I've been paying for it ever since."

The man stared at him for a moment before he once more dropped his gaze to the faded tattoo, pressing gently on the skin. "What did you want to cover it with?"

"Anything," Barty replied, wincing when he realised how desperate that sounded.

"Hmm. It will have to be fairly dark, and quite large to cover this up. An animal perhaps, a panther or a wolf," the man suggested. "It's certainly possible to cover it, now that it's been lasered."

The man leant back and stretched to reach something under the desk. Standing once more with a pencil and tracing paper in hand, he laid it over Barty's arm and roughly traced the outline of the tattoo. The hand holding his arm still was warm, and Barty relished the feeling of human contact. It had been so long since anyone had touched him, even in such an innocent way.

When the tracing was done, the man pulled back once more, this time motioning Barty to put his jacket back on. "I'll need a few says to draw a few things up. Are you free on..." he paused to check his diary. "Friday morning? You can take a look at the drawing's, see if there's anything you like, and we'll make an appointment from there."

Barty nodded. "Friday is fine. What time?"

"Anytime before eleven is fine."

"Okay... thanks. Um... what's your name?"

The man blinked, smiling sheepishly when he realised he hadn't introduced himself. "Regulus. You?"

"Barty."

Regulus moved out from behind the counter and walked to the door, gesturing Barty outside. Barty was surprised when Regulus followed him, pulling a cigarette from behind his ear and lighting it, blowing smoke into the cool breeze.

"Nice to meet you then, Barty. I'll see you on Friday," Regulus said, smirking when Barty blushed lightly.

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"I like the panther," Barty decided finally, dithering between the three sketches Regulus had laid out for him. "Yes. The panther."

Regulus nodded, a small smile on his face. "I thought you might choose that one. It'll be a good cover. Right, I'll see when I can fit you in for the line work. How did you handle the pain of getting the original one done?"

Barty shrugged. "It hurt, but..."

"I don't suppose you had much choice but to deal with it," Regulus guessed, his eyes darkening slightly. "I have the afternoon free next Tuesday, if you're available?"

"That's fine," Barty replied, his head tilting slightly with curiosity. "You seem to know a lot about Tom Riddle."

Regulus looked up to meet Barty's eyes. He nodded slightly. "I should. I was the one who had him sent down. He murdered my brother."

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The buzzing of the needles was strangely comforting to Barty. He watched Regulus's steady hands draw lines on his skin, the slight scratch bringing him a sense of freedom he hadn't felt in months. It hurt, but it wasn't a painful pain. It was as though everything that had happened over the past two years was being pulled out of him with every prick of the needles.

"Your brother was Sirius Black?"

"Hmm. He was stupid. I tried to tell him that joining Tom Riddle's 'gang' was a terrible idea, but he waved me off as though it was nothing. I didn't find out until later that he was heavily taking drugs already, even before he had that ridiculous snake tattooed into his skin. And I say tattooed lightly; the work was fucking terrible. Sirius... he came to me one night, rambling that he was in trouble. He'd taken something from Tom Riddle that he shouldn't have done and he had to get away. I gave him all the money I had and told him to hide.

"He trusted Peter Pettigrew. He went to him and begged him to hide him away from Riddle. He was found dead, three days later. The mark had been spray painted onto the alley wall above his body."

"I'm sorry about your brother. I knew of him, but I never met him."

"Why did you join him?"

"My father," Barty replied darkly. "He... He always talked about Tom Riddle, about how the man was controlling the criminal classes masterfully, how he was better for London's crime rate than the police had ever managed to be... I thought..."

"You wanted to make him proud," Regulus surmised, turning slightly to add ink to his needles. "And it all went south when you realised just what a monster Tom Riddle actually was."

"Right. How are you... I mean..."

"Tom Riddle wouldn't dare move against me," Regulus replied quietly. "I know his biggest secret... and he knows I have contingency's in place should anything happen to me. He hates me, but he also fears what I could do to him. He may be in prison at the moment but he'll be out. No jail sentence will hold him for long."

Barty gaped for a moment. "I... don't quite know what to say to that."

Regulus glanced up to meet his eyes. "There's nothing to be said. It is what it is."

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"Are you ready for this? You know it will hurt more than the lining?" Regulus asked as he gestured Barty back into the chair. It had been a long three weeks between appointments, but the lining had finally healed up and Barty was beyond ready to finally no longer see the brand of Tom Riddle on his arm.

He said as much, making Regulus smile. Once comfortable, Regulus with tattoo gun in hand poised and ready to start, Barty took a breath and nodded. The buzzing started once more.

"What are your plans now? I can't imagine Mob Lackey looks good on a CV."

Barty snorted. "I have no idea. I don't particularly need to work... My grandfather left me a rather large inheritance, but... I hate to be idle."

Regulus nodded understandingly.

The two chatted about inconsequential things for a couple of hours, before Barty's hand began to twitch.

"You ready for a break?" Regulus offered, to which Barty nodded thankfully, flexing his hand. Regulus laid the tattoo gun down on the work table beside him, snapping the gloves off with a flourish.

"I'm going to go and have a cig then. Coming?"

Dutifully following the artist through the back of the shop, Barty found himself in a small garden. He raised his eyebrow at Reg as the latter lit a cigarette, before gesturing to the space.

"Garden much?"

Regulus chuckled. "Eh. I'm not much for outdoor work."

"Obviously," Barty agreed, his eyes once more tracing the chaos of overgrown grass, unorganised flowers and weeds, and the mossy puddle at the bottom that quite possibly could have once been a pond. "This could be lovely if you put some time into it."

"I don't garden," Reg muttered. "I sketch. I tattoo. I don't like to get my hands particularly dirty."

Barty nodded, briefly, his eyes on the mess. "I loved gardening when I was younger. My grandfather taught me everything he knew, and with my father being so... busy being busy, I spent a lot of time with him. It's relaxing."

Regulus scoffed. "How is breaking your back to pull out weeds relaxing?"

"Physical work always feels good," Barty argued lightly.

"I'll take your word for it. You got some feeling back in your hand?"

"Yep."

"Let's crack on then."

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The tattoo was finished.

It was beautiful.

Barty stared at it for long minutes before Regulus covered it with cling film, a little bit of tape holding it in place. "Leave that on for the next couple of hours, and make sure you cream the area regularly the same as last time, okay?"

"Sure. I... uh... Thank you. It's... I don't even have words."

Regulus' lips tilted up in a smile. "You're welcome."

As Barty put his jacket on carefully, a sinking feeling in his stomach that he had no reason to come back and see this beautiful man again, Regulus cleared his throat.

"Look... I know you said you like physical work and gardening... if you wanted to do something with the mess in the back while you're looking for something to fill your time... I mean... you're welcome to it. I won't be able to pay you but... well, if you wanted anymore ink?"

A warmth bubbled up in Barty's chest. "Yeah? That'd be... yeah. Thanks."

"Not until your arm is healed though, okay? I don't want you getting mud or anything on it and destroying my art with an infection."

Barty chuckled. "Of course. I... I was just going to go and, uh, get something to eat. If you wanted?"

Regulus met his eyes, a calculating look in his own for a moment, before he smiled a smile that Barty hadn't seen before. It was breathtaking.

"Sure. Maybe afterwards I can cream you up myself... your tattoo, I mean?"

Blushing, Barty ducked his head. "I'd like that."


End file.
